


One-Upsmanship

by Anonymous



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: 4x04 coda, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A coda to the end of episode 4, season 4. Dinesh and Gilfoyle take the plunge from frenemies to partners.





	One-Upsmanship

“Oh, hey, uh, when you begged Richard for the job,” Dinesh begins, painstakingly keeping a straight face. “Did you actually, like, literally lick his boots, or did you just go, like, ‘pretty please, Richard, please can I have a job, Richard’?”

 

“Whatever I did,” Gilfoyle, covered platter in hand, responds in his signature monotone, giving away nothing about his intentions. “It was worth it for the chance to work without you.” It sounds almost like a marriage proposal. Except, not. “Speaking of; did your deal with Periscope ever close?”

 

“Yep,” Dinesh says, peacocking in his seat. “If I stay a year I invest a big chunk of Twitter stock.”

 

“Great.”

 

“Great.”

 

“And,” Gilfoyle says, finally getting to the point. “What exactly are you working on?”

 

“Oh,” Dinesh says, internally freaking the fuck out because of  _ course  _ Gilfoyle knows, and of  _ course  _ he’s gonna make him say it. “You know, we’re, um, tuning our algorithm, we’re reconfiguring our… classifier from food to… another purpose.” He hates every fucking second of this.

 

Gilfoyle loves every second of this. “Uh huh,” he says, meandering around the table to sit beside Dinesh, turning the chair around to straddle it. “In other words, you sit around looking at dick pics all day long. Don’t let me stop you.” There’s a definite hint of smugness to his tone of voice, despite not having actually changed in tone in any way. “Wow,” he says, looking at a particularly revealing image on Dinesh’s screen, sitting up a little straighter in his seat and taking a sharp breath. “I would say ‘not safe for work’, but this  _ is  _ your work. For a year. At least.” He unveils the hot dog on his plate without looking away from the screen. Dinesh glances at it, uncomfortable, and hoping to every fucking god there is that Gilfoyle does not look down at any point. Just the proximity of the dickhead is getting him hot and bothered, making him imagine every picture he sees is a picture of Gilfoyle. It’s dangerous.

 

“Is that one,” Gilfoyle starts, leaning in closer and pressing his arm against Dinesh’s shoulder - and it’s so warm for such a cold-blooded asshole, Dinesh reluctantly notes. They both peer closely and deliberately at the picture. “Actually a hotdog?” Gilfoyle takes this opportunity to take a big, meaty bite out of his perfectly prepared meal. 

 

“Nope,” sighs Dinesh, his voice cracking slightly. “Not hotdog.” 

 

Gilfoyle settles in, getting himself comfortable for the long haul, apparently interested in sitting beside Dinesh for an eight hour work day of staring at other dudes’ junk. Dinesh tries very, very hard not to think about the possible meanings behind a decision to actively seek out images of penises. He couldn’t cope if he thought Gilfoyle was here in any capacity other than explicitly to fuck with him.

 

He decides to take the inactive route as he adds this image to the folder marked ‘DICKS’, resolutely  _ not  _ looking away from the screen as he pulls up another - this one less hotdog-like, more explicitly and obviously phallic. Gilfoyle takes another bite of his hotdog and says nothing. Dinesh moves the picture to the ‘DICKS’ folder, opens the next. This one actually is an image of a hotdog, and he moves it to the folder named ‘NOT DICKS’. The next image is a penis, Gilfoyle takes a bite of his hotdog, Dinesh moves the picture to the appropriate folder, pulls up another, moves it, another, moves it, another. Gilfoyle leans forward in his seat, putting the plate down on the table beside Dinesh, and pushes the last bite of his hotdog into his mouth with one finger, basically deepthroating it as he finishes half the thing in one go. Dinesh feels the heat rising from his own body, feels the pang of arousal begin in the depths of his chest and work its way down to his already half-hard dick. Gilfoyle swallows -  _ swallows, fuck  _ \- before speaking again.

 

“It’s surprising that half these men have no idea what personal hygiene is, despite undoubtedly expecting every woman they sleep with to be perfectly smooth,” he says, his monotone almost imperceptibly strained. “On that note, how do you think Mia will take your looking at other people’s genitals all day, every day?”

 

“God, don’t remind me,” Dinesh groans, although it comes out as more of a whine. He uses the momentum of his exasperation to surreptitiously shuffle his chair forward, trying to hide the bulge beginning in his trousers. He’s not subtle enough, though.

 

“Looks like it might be more of a problem than even  _ I  _ thought,” Gilfoyle says, staring pointedly down at Dinesh’s crotch, wiping hotdog bun crumbs from his beard. Dinesh is too embarrassed and stressed to say anything in reply. “I wonder, would you be this affected if you were trolling through pussy pics?”

 

“Duh, obviously I’d like that more,” Dinesh says, moving to get back to work and clicks through a few more images of dicks and moves them to their folder, trying to save face. 

 

“What about if it was still dick pics, and I weren’t here?”

 

Dinesh fumbles his wireless mouse, dropping it over the edge of the table and onto the floor. In his hasty bid to retrieve it, he bends over sideways and has to reach underneath Gilfoyle’s chair to grab it. From this vantage point, crotch-height and through the wooden slats of the chair back, Dinesh can see that he’s not the only one with a bit of a problem brought on by the photos.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Dinesh accuses, sitting back up and twisting around to look at Gilfoyle, forgetting to actually pick up the mouse. “At least I  _ have  _ to be here. What’s your excuse, huh?”

 

“Maybe I just like looking at dicks,” Gilfoyle supplies, as easily as he might suggest pizza for dinner, or that Dinesh should go fuck himself. Dinesh is in serious danger of the second one if this doesn’t go the way he thinks it will go, and he’s also not entirely sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

 

“What, so,” Dinesh says, turning his back to his laptop completely now and staring at Gilfoyle’s face -  _ nice and easy, very safe, just the face, stick to the face, wonder if those lips are as good as they look  _ \- trying to get a read on the situation. “You’re gay now, is that it?”

 

“I look beyond the prison of the mortal body to the soul within,” Gilfoyle intones, giving away nothing in his expression. “Whether someone has this or that set of plumbing isn’t particularly interesting to me. And neither is limiting the resource pool from which I might drink to sate my more physical desires.

 

“Don’t worry,” he says with a smirk. “The soul inside has to be somewhat attractive, so you’re in the clear.”

 

“Hold on,” Dinesh says, holding up a hand. “If the person you like has to have a good looking soul, how come you’re getting all hot and bothered by some pictures of dicks? Wouldn’t they have to be the real thing?”

 

“One, the soul is only really important in actual relationships; and, two, you’re the one who got hard first.”

 

“What, so, you were watching  _ my  _ dick the entire time to see if  _ I  _ got hard?” 

 

“And if I was?” Gilfoyle asks, one eyebrow going up. Dinesh splutters for a while, managing to get across absolutely no point through almost a minute of pure, confused vocalisation.

 

“Th- then you… You- do you?” he asks, assuming Gilfoyle understands what he’s asking.

 

“Want to fuck you? Yes,” Gilfoyle says. 

 

Dinesh had been asking if he looked at gay porn to get himself off. This is a whole new ballpark. Dinesh is not in any way, shape, or form ready to deal with this. And then it hits him: Gilfoyle, the prick that he is, is fucking with him. Dinesh breathes a sigh of relief, his worldview realigning. 

 

“Fuck off, Gilfoyle,” he says, turning back to his laptop and resolutely using the trackpad to continue his work. “Point well made - ha-ha Dinesh likes some dick, very funny. You can piss off now.”

 

If Dinesh didn't know any better - and he doesn't - he'd say that the small glimpse of Gilfoyle’s face he sees reflected in the black of his computer screen looks disappointed. He flicks through the images just a little bit faster. 

 

Gilfoyle is a little put out that Dinesh is just ignoring him, but he has to admit it's to be expected. Even he knows this is exactly how he would fuck with Dinesh if he weren't legitimately interested, but god damn it he is, so now he's gotta actually  _ do  _ something about it. Slowly, carefully, he removes his left arm from the top of his seat back, moving it to stretch out across the back of Dinesh’s, leaning in closer to him as he stares at the dicks on screen. Dinesh doesn't react, not even by working faster.

 

Gilfoyle moves his other hand, sliding it around his chair and over to Dinesh’s side, ghosting underneath his arm to settle slowly and deliberately on Dinesh’s stomach, a few inches above his not-so-little problem. Dinesh’s fingers falter on the trackpad, sending a very explicit and obvious point-of-view shot of a long, thin, white cock into the “NOT DICKS” folder. 

 

“Fuck,” Dinesh whispers, with a lot of feeling, both annoyance and some as yet undefined thing that sounds quite a lot like arousal. He holds his breath for a tense moment, then bursts up and out of his chair, away from Gilfoyle, turning to stare the man directly in the eye. Gilfoyle holds his stare, something unreadable -  _ is that hope? Want? … Laughter?  _ \- in his eye, but nothing betrayed by his face. Without a word, Dinesh turns and tries to stride purposefully off in the direction of his bedroom, but it turns into more of an awkward, bumbling gait as his now ridiculously hard cock gets some much-needed friction.

 

Gilfoyle watches him leave, and knows that he could leave it here, chalk it up to commitment to the bit, to fucking with Dinesh. But there's two things that make him stand and follow Dinesh’s path through the house:

 

One, fucking with Dinesh sounds only a fraction as fun as fucking Dinesh.

 

And two, Dinesh very purposefully did not slam, or even shut, the door to his room.

  
  


\---

 

Dinesh stands in the centre of his bedroom, facing away from the door and thinking very loudly. He decides that he will give Gilfoyle exactly two minutes, and if the bastard hasn't followed him in here, he'll close the door and rub one out in the way that only the very frustrated and very recently rejected can. 

 

He's so lost in making this decision that he almost misses the tiny  _ snick _ sounds of his door closing and locking. But he doesn't, and he turns quickly to see Gilfoyle leaning against the door, face unreadable as usual. They stare at each other, unmoving.

 

“If you're just fucking with me,” Dinesh starts, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest. “Then good job, you've done it. You can stop now. Because I know you're an asshole, Gilfoyle, but, you know, I never thought you were just straight-up evil.”

 

“I think,” Gilfoyle says, pushing away from the door and walking slowly, almost threateningly, towards Dinesh. “By now we can safely say neither of us have ever been ‘straight’ anything.” He stops, inches away, reaching out to hold Dinesh’s hips softly, right up in his face.

 

“I swear to god, Gilfoyle, if you're still fucking with m-”

 

Gilfoyle cuts him off by kissing him, his beard surprisingly soft against Dinesh’s face. Dinesh’s brain short-circuits, and he's barely able to close his eyes, let alone kiss back, because  _ damn  _ those lips are even better than they look, and he's overwhelmed as it is, really.

 

Gilfoyle pulls back, feeling a little unsure of himself - an emotion he doesn't have a whole lot of experience with. He squints at Dinesh. “No?” he asks.

 

“Y-you, uh…” Dinesh says, staring down at Gilfoyle’s lips. “Why did you do that?”

 

“Because,” Gilfoyle says, hands tightening slightly on Dinesh’s hips. “I wanted to.”

 

“Why did you want to?” Dinesh’s voice cracks a little, and he still won't meet Gilfoyle’s eyes.

 

“Because I'm attracted to you. And when I'm attracted to someone, I act like most other, functioning humans, and I kiss them.”

 

“Gil-”

 

“I'm not fucking with you,” Gilfoyle says, a matter-of-fact edge to his voice. He's being entirely sincere, Dinesh realises as he glances up to meet his eyes. “I'm attracted to you, Dinesh, and I want to finally do something about it.”

 

Dinesh can't quite take all this in. Not five minutes ago, he was perfectly happy with his life: a well-paying (if unconventional) job, a girlfriend he was only marginally scared of, and a relationship he could categorise and understand with his satanic ex-colleague. But, he has to admit, he's never been all that good at being with women. It's always sort of been something that he has to do, rather than something he wants to. And, since meeting Gilfoyle in the Incubator, he has noticed a certain theme to his rare sexual rendezvous with women: eyes closed, body tense, and mind dragging up images of Gilfoyle’s hands, his mouth, his eyes, his bare, bare chest, just to get himself through the encounter. He doesn't like to admit it, even just to himself, but Dinesh can't get it up unless he's thinking about Gilfoyle. Not that he'd ever  _ tell _ Gilfoyle this: that man does not need to have his ego stroked. Other things, Dinesh considers, he could be persuaded.

 

“Okay,” Dinesh says. “Okay. If we're doing this, you have to  _ swear _ to me that I'm not making a terrible, terrible mistake and giving you ammunition for the rest of eternity.”

 

“I can't promise that,” Gilfoyle says, already leaning back in. “Because it's true. I  _ can _ tell you, however, that I won't be using it against you unless you do something predictably stupid like cheat on me.” 

 

“Wait,” Dinesh says, leaning backwards away from Gilfoyle’s advancing -  _ and so tempting  _ \- lips. “Cheat on you? You mean, you actually want to… you want…”

 

“A relationship, yes. Can you shut up and let me kiss you now?”

 

“But what about Tara?” Dinesh asks, getting a little bit hysterical. “What about Mia? Am I cheating on her with you, or you with her, or both, or, or-”

 

“Shut up, Dinesh,” Gilfoyle says, frustrated. “Tara left me weeks ago, when she figured out I was more interested in you. And you can break up with M-I-4 later. Now can we get to the sex, or are you not done being a little bitch?”

 

“I, uh,” Dinesh says, feeling very much like all of this is happening very fast considering he hadn't even noticed Gilfoyle was interested until a few minutes ago. But he's also feeling like, maybe, probably, this is what he wants. “O-okay.”

 

Gilfoyle grins -  _ actually grins, without any anger or derision, or anything other than happiness  _ \- and leans in to kiss Dinesh again, and this time Dinesh kisses back. And it's good - better than good, it's great. It's wonderful. It's, dare he say it, almost perfect. Dinesh is, admittedly, pretty shit at kissing, but for the first time Gilfoyle doesn't give a fuck about how ‘good’ his partner is, and is just thrilled to be kissing Dinesh at all.

 

“Do you want me to suck you?” Gilfoyle asks, sliding his hands up and across and over Dinesh’s stomach. He can feel Dinesh starting up another freak out, and kisses him softly in an attempt to avoid it. 

 

“Um, y-yeah. Yeah, okay,” Dinesh breathes, trying to keep a lid on all his neuroses. Gilfoyle spends another minute or so just touching his sides, kissing him softly, trying to help him relax.

 

Then, slowly, Gilfoyle lowers himself down onto his knees. He pushes Dinesh’s shirt up, kissing his stomach, his beard tickling. Gilfoyle feels like he's made a lot of selfless gestures in the last two days - admittedly mostly towards Richard - so he thinks it's about time he does something for himself, such as sucking Dinesh’s dick down his throat.

 

He undoes Dinesh’s trousers slowly, since he seems so flighty about the whole deal, and watches and listens carefully for any sign of reluctance - he prides himself on being a sensitive lover, and certainly doesn't want to start a relationship with Dinesh with any kind of misgivings. Or, at least, any sexual misgivings. He figures they'll always be at each other's throats with anything else, but at least they can ensure they have a  _ spectacular  _ sex life.

 

For his part, Dinesh just runs his fingers into Gilfoyle’s hair and watches expectantly. 

 

Gilfoyle digs his fingers underneath Dinesh’s waistband - both jeans and underwear - and pulls them down, leaning back as Dinesh’s cock is revealed along with a neat patch of dark, coarse hair, and some surprisingly toned thighs. Dinesh’s clothes fall around his ankles, and Gilfoyle uses one hand to push his shirt as far up his chest as possible, while the other grips Dinesh’s hip. Gilfoyle leans in, avoiding Dinesh’s not unimpressive dick at the last moment to press kisses against his hip bones.

 

Dinesh isn't entirely sure what's going on. He'd always imagined sex with Gilfoyle to be about give and take - Dinesh with the giving, and Gilfoyle about the taking. Just the concept of having Gilfoyle on his knees, kissing a path across his pelvis towards his cock, would seem laughable if it weren't happening right now in a very,  _ very _ hot way. Finally -  _ finally  _ \- Gilfoyle is satisfied that Dinesh wants this -  _ he refuses to beg, that's just too much  _ \- and sinks his mouth down over Dinesh’s dick, all warmth and wetness and fucking gorgeous. Dinesh groans, fingers tightening in Gilfoyle’s hair as his other hand reaches to grip Gilfoyle’s shoulder, eyes closing and head tilting back and up, letting his mouth fall open. Gilfoyle chuckles around his cock, and Dinesh lets out a gurgle at the feeling, gripping even tighter to Gilfoyle’s head, which just keeps going and going, down and down, until Dinesh can feel Gilfoyle’s nose pressed into his pubic hair. 

Gilfoyle doesn't move, doesn't swallow, doesn't do a thing until Dinesh looks down. The sight that greets him - Gilfoyle with his mouth wide open, glasses pushed askew, drool already collecting around his lips - is almost too much already. He gasps. 

 

The pull of Gilfoyle’s lips around his dick as he smiles is exquisite. What's even better is when Gilfoyle decides to move, pulling back up and sucking as he goes, the sound utterly disgusting in a way that makes Dinesh more than a little weak at the knees. Gilfoyle moves his tongue along Dinesh’s cock in a way that suggests, perhaps, that giving his combination best friend and worst enemy a blow job is, in fact, entirely for his own benefit and not at all something he's doing just to make Dinesh happy. The concept is dizzying -  _ Gilfoyle _ , of all people, actually  _ likes  _ to suck cock. Dinesh huffs a little at the thought. Breathing is starting to become a difficult task.

 

Gilfoyle is finding breathing even more tricky than Dinesh, with the feeling of him all around and over his body, and Dinesh’s little aborted half-thrusts into his mouth. He works his throat, breathing heavily through his nose. It's been a lot longer than he thought since he last did this, but luckily he knows for a fact that Dinesh hasn't had a lot of experience receiving blow jobs, so his ineptitude will go completely unnoticed. He rolls his tongue over the tip of Dinesh’s dick, tasting the pre-cum, and nearly moans from the taste himself. He would never admit it, but the feeling of Dinesh heavy in his mouth was doing more for him than he'd anticipated. He runs his hand down Dinesh’s chest, the shirt kept there by Dinesh’s locked arms, over his stomach, brings it down to run his fingers delicately over the wet, silky skin at the base of Dinesh’s cock.

 

“Gil-Gilfoyle,” Dinesh whispers, voice breaking. Gilfoyle pulls off, secretly a little disappointed.

 

“What?” he asks, voice gruff in frustration, both from lack of touch and at being interrupted. But he won't keep going if Dinesh wants him to stop.

 

“I just, you're uh, you're kinda  _ too  _ good at that, if you know what I mean,” Dinesh says, avoiding eye contact. Gilfoyle smirks a little, letting go of Dinesh, and sits back on his heels. Dinesh’s hands drop, as does his shirt.

 

“Don't wanna come before the main event?” Gilfoyle asks, adjusting his glasses and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, looking up at Dinesh, who shakes his head with his eyes screwed shut. Gilfoyle gets up with a little difficulty - fine motor skills are harder than expected with a dick as stiff as his hidden behind jeans. No pun intended. 

 

“Take off your shoes,” Gilfoyle says, pulling his shirt up and over his head and toeing his own shoes off. He watches Dinesh expectantly until he does what he's told, taking off his shirt, jeans, and underwear while he's at it. 

 

Dinesh stands, completely naked, in front of Gilfoyle, looking utterly delicious. And, finally, he's taking some control as he reaches for Gilfoyle’s jeans, undoing them and pushing them down with his underwear. Dinesh takes a minute just to stare at Gilfoyle - hard chest, soft belly, ridiculously hard, pink cock bending upwards and slightly to the right. Then Gilfoyle steps out of his clothes, into Dinesh’s personal space, and grabs him around the waist, pulling them together. Dinesh can feel everything - the subtle movement of Gilfoyle’s muscles as he breathes, the tight grip of his arms, and the firm press of his cock against Dinesh’s hip and stomach. It's overwhelming.

 

“Nobody's home,” Gilfoyle whispers, leaning further in to speak directly into Dinesh’s ear. “Jared and Richard are at Gavin Belson’s, Jian Yang is at Raviga, Erlich is driving around in a two tonne metaphor for over-compensation. We're alone.”

 

Dinesh refuses to admit he shivers at that.

 

“You can ask for whatever you want,” Gilfoyle continues, his hands running soothingly up and down Dinesh’s back. 

 

“I don't,” Dinesh starts, unable to help himself from leaning in, resting his head against Gilfoyle’s shoulder. “I don't know what I want. I'm not good at this.” He hates to admit it, but it's true. And he’s starting to feel an unprecedented amount of trust for Gilfoyle, despite knowing that’s probably also very dangerous. But, really, all of this is dangerous, and he’s already had his dick in the guy’s mouth - may as well let it run its course.

 

“Few options,” Gilfoyle says, leaning his head back to look Dinesh in the eye. “You can fuck me, I can fuck you, or we just use our hands and mouths. Up to you.”

 

“Shit,” Dinesh whispers, closing his eyes. He’s sure Gilfoyle felt his cock jerk against his thigh. He’s really, really not used to being sexual with anyone, let alone someone he’s actually attracted to. No need to let Gilfoyle know he’s the only one Dinesh thinks about in these moments, the only one he’s ever thought about. He’s sure to let it go to his head. “Uh, I guess, uh… I- I’d like to fuck you?”

 

Gilfoyle smirks. “Sounds good. Got supplies?”

 

“S-supplies?”

 

“Condoms, lube,” Gilfoyle says, starting to walk Dinesh backwards towards his bed. 

 

“Uh, bedside table, second drawer,” Dinesh replies as the backs of his legs hit the mattress. Gilfoyle lets him go as he falls, smirking down at him lying bare on the bed. He thinks idly as his eyes rake over Dinesh’s naked body that he might enjoy having that cock inside him, despite a strong preference towards doing the fucking. If it felt that good in his mouth, maybe for once he’ll actually enjoy having something up his ass. The fact that it’s Dinesh’s cock doesn’t factor into it at all. Except that it definitely does. 

 

He lets Dinesh gather himself while he wanders over to the bedside table, rifling through the second drawer. He knows that Dinesh is still freaking out about this whole thing, and as much as he wants to get down and dirty immediately, he knows Dinesh needs a bit more time to work through it all in his head. He turns back, dropping the condom on the bed next to Dinesh, and motioning for him to move further up. Dinesh scrambles backwards, laying his head back down on his pillow. Gilfoyle puts one knee up on the bed, the other, and crawls up over Dinesh’s body, stopping when his face is hovering above Dinesh’s. He watches Dinesh’s face, studies it, until Dinesh gets frustrated and fed up, straining to press his lips against Gilfoyle’s again, slipping his tongue inside Gilfoyle’s mouth. He can taste himself, vaguely, on Gilfoyle’s tongue. It’s hotter than it should be.

 

Gilfoyle leans back, sitting straight up on his knees, and deliberately opens the lube, letting it drizzle down over the fingers of his right hand. Dinesh watches him with wide eyes, watches as his hand disappears behind him, stares openly at Gilfoyle’s face as he works his hips, driving one finger into himself. Gilfoyle smirks at him and Dinesh slaps Gilfoyle’s thigh.

 

“Asshole,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” says Gilfoyle, a little breathless. “That’s kinda the point.” 

 

“You’re not funny,” Dinesh says, but his hand is still on Gilfoyle’s thigh, rubbing softly against the smooth skin. He wonders silently if Gilfoyle waxes.

 

“Ugh,” Gilfoyle says, his face screwing up behind his glasses. His hips move faster, stronger, as he pushes a second finger up inside him. It’s weird; he’s tried this before, but he’s never actually enjoyed it. It feels good, knowing that the end goal is having Dinesh’s cock right up inside him, feeling the heat of Dinesh beneath him, seeing Dinesh’s reactions, feeling Dinesh’s eyes on him. He realises, somewhat unnecessarily, that the reason he’s enjoying it is that he’s doing it for, with, Dinesh. That knowledge is a lot more comforting and a lot less terrifying than he anticipated. He shoves a third finger up his ass, rocking on top of Dinesh and panting. 

 

“Jesus, Gilfoyle,” Dinesh whispers. He’s not used to having physical reactions to his sexual partners. Very not used to liking what he sees. Gilfoyle looks almost beautiful on top of him. Now that’s a sentence he never thought he’d be thinking. “You, um.”

 

“I what?” Gilfoyle asks, opening his eyes and meeting Dinesh’s.

 

“Nevermind.”

 

“I  _ what _ ?” Gilfoyle insists, hips stopping with a serious amount of effort.

 

“I just, I was thinking that, um… That you’re kinda, uh, beautiful,” Dinesh says, looking away and down at his hand on Gilfoyle’s thigh. Gilfoyle stares, chuckles quietly.

 

“Thanks,” he says, getting back to work and moving his left hand to rest on Dinesh’s stomach for balance. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

“Wow,” Dinesh says, his voice dripping with his usual sarcasm as he relaxes, rubbing Gilfoyle’s leg again. “That  _ almost  _ sounded like a compliment.”

 

“What were you expecting?” Gilfoyle asks. “‘Oh, Dinesh’,” he starts, his voice rising a few octaves. “‘You’re so gorgeous, like an adonis! You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!’”

 

“Shut up,” Dinesh laughs.

 

“‘You’re a sex god, Dinesh!’”

 

“Shut up!” But he’s grinning widely.

 

“Your cock is so fucking good, Dinesh,” Gilfoyle says, voice dropping back to his natural level gradually. He smiles, lifting his hips up, and pulls his fingers out of his ass, wiping them on the bedspread. Dinesh’s breath hitches.

 

Gilfoyle reaches for the condom, sitting back on his heels over Dinesh’s thighs. His cock brushes against Dinesh’s, perking up from half mast as it hits Dinesh’s completely hard one. He smirks, leaning over to kiss Dinesh, rub against him, stroking his cheek as his glasses fall off onto Dinesh’s face. They laugh as Gilfoyle takes his glasses and puts them on the nightstand. 

 

“You ready?” Gilfoyle asks, uncharacteristically sensitive. Although, Dinesh wouldn't know what his usual bedside manner would be like, and he's been surprisingly giving and thoughtful through this entire thing. Maybe that's just what a relationship with Bertram Gilfoyle is like.

 

“Yeah,” Dinesh breathes, watching as Gilfoyle tears the condom open with his teeth. Gilfoyle grins with the wrapper in his mouth, then turns and spits it out over the side of the bed. He looks directly into Dinesh’s eyes as he rolls the condom down onto Dinesh’s cock. “Wait,” Dinesh says, putting his hand on Gilfoyle’s wrist. 

 

“What's up?” Gilfoyle asks, unexpectedly okay with being stopped.

 

“I just, uh,” Dinesh says.

 

“Dinesh,” Gilfoyle sighs. “Just say it. I've got my hand on your dick: we're kinda past the point of no return re, embarrassment.”

 

“Ihaven’ttouchedyouyet,” Dinesh says, all in one breath. He closes his eyes and grips Gilfoyle’s wrist tighter.

 

Gilfoyle stares for a second, then chuckles, moving his hand away from Dinesh’s cock and leaning back on both hands, making his own cock jut out from his pelvis. “Go ahead,” he says.

 

Dinesh opens his eyes slowly then, even slower, reaches out his hand to touch the tip of Gilfoyle’s dick lightly with one fingertip. It jumps a little, and he flinches away like it burned.

 

“Doesn't bite,” Gilfoyle says. Dinesh nods and reaches out again, wrapping his hand delicately around Gilfoyle’s cock. Gilfoyle breathes out and tries to relax as Dinesh pulls his hand up, stroking too softly, too slowly, but so perfectly. He’s earnest, but not confident. “Feels good.”

 

“Yeah,” Dinesh whispers, awed. 

 

“Alright, enough,” Gilfoyle says, pushing Dinesh’s hand away. He grabs the lube again, this time letting it drip over Dinesh’s cock. Dinesh jerks, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Careful, it's cold,” Gilfoyle says, teasing. 

 

Dinesh is ready in no time and Gilfoyle shuffles forward over his legs so that his dick is level with Gilfoyle’s ass. Gilfoyle holds Dinesh’s gaze as he carefully lowers himself down, letting his cock rub against his asshole. He grabs Dinesh’s hand and wraps it around his own dick, tightening his grip until it's perfect, and tries to relax as he bares down on Dinesh, feeling the head of his cock push inside. He squeezes his eyes shut and gasps.

 

“You okay?” Dinesh asks, stroking Gilfoyle softly as he moves. His voice is breathy, heady with the feeling of Gilfoyle slipping down and around him. 

 

“Fuck off,” Gilfoyle says, pushing down harder. “I'm fine.”

 

“Just fine?” Dinesh teases. “I must be shitter at this than I thought.”

 

“You definitely are,” Gilfoyle says, forcing himself to take the last inch of Dinesh’s cock inside him. “But that feels fucking incredible.” Dinesh gives him a squeeze and lets his other hand resume its rubbing over Gilfoyle’s thigh. Gilfoyle stays still for a few moments, letting himself adjust. 

 

“Fuck, Gilfoyle,” Dinesh says. “You feel- Jesus. You feel amazing.” 

 

“Yeah,” is all Gilfoyle can reply as he starts moving, rocking his hips backward and forwards, further onto Dinesh’s cock, further into his hand, back onto his cock. He lets out a groan as he shifts his weight on his legs, melting like warm butter as the very tip of Dinesh’s dick rubs against his prostate. He tilts his head back, baring his neck, and Dinesh can see the muscles of his vocal cords moving as he moans softly. “Yeah, yeah, right there, Dinesh.”

 

Dinesh can't keep his hips still after hearing that, pushing up into Gilfoyle’s hot, tight body. He's never been with a man, never even done this with a woman. It's so, so much better, and he can't tell whether it's because it's an ass or whether it's because it's Gilfoyle. He assumes some mixture of the two. 

 

“Fuuuuck,” Gilfoyle breathes, curling his hands into fists over Dinesh’s chest. He rocks into Dinesh’s fist, grinding down against his pelvis as Dinesh fucks up into him. “Just like that, Dinesh.”

 

“You're, ah,” Dinesh forces out through gritted teeth. “You're real talkative during sex.”

 

“Not usually,” Gilfoyle replies, voice tight. “You're just -  _ fuck  _ \- special.”

 

“Special?”

 

“Shut up,” Gilfoyle frowns, realising he's said something he hadn't meant to.

 

“No. Why am I -  _ shit, ah  _ \- special?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“No. Why am I special?” Dinesh asks, forcing his hips to stop moving and taking his hand away from Gilfoyle’s cock. Gilfoyle whines -  _ actually whines!  _ \- and rocks harder. Dinesh grips his hips tightly. 

 

“You asshole,” Gilfoyle growls.

 

“Answer the question and you get more cock,” Dinesh smirks.

 

“You're a cruel man,” Gilfoyle says, dropping his head to frown directly into Dinesh’s eyes. “You're special because I left Tara for you,” Gilfoyle admits. Dinesh grins and starts fucking him again - finally, properly, aggressively.

 

“Only fucked Mia to get your attention,” Dinesh says, playing their one-up game. 

 

“Only fuck with you to get yours,” Gilfoyle adds.

 

“Think of you when I touch myself,” Dinesh says.

 

“Think of you when I touch anyone,” Gilfoyle counters. He's riding Dinesh now, their hips moving in tandem, apart and together, Dinesh’s cock hitting his prostate every few thrusts.

 

“Can't get it up if I don't think about you,” Dinesh whispers. He’s not sure he wants to win this game; it's getting into dangerously emotional and secret territory.

 

“Fuck,” Gilfoyle says, fucking loudly. “Fuck, that's hot.”

 

“Thought about you every time I fucked anyone,” Dinesh says, moving his hand to jerk Gilfoyle’s cock. He screws his eyes shut. “Had to. Couldn't get hard if I didn't. Thought about fucking you, touching you, feeling you. Feels better than I ever imagined.  _ So fucking good, Gilfoyle! _ ”

 

“I,” Gilfoyle starts, determined to win the game as always. “Love you.” 

 

Dinesh’s hips stutter, and he barely registers exactly what Gilfoyle’s said before his body reacts and he's coming, hard, cock throbbing and pulsing inside Gilfoyle’s ass. Dinesh groans loudly, back arching, head thrown back, eyes screwed tightly shut. Gilfoyle rides him through it, fucking himself down and grinding the spurting tip of Dinesh’s dick against his prostate until he, too, is coming in thick ropes across Dinesh’s chest and stomach. Come dribbles down his cock as he slows, losing his momentum, falling forward against Dinesh and getting it all over himself in the process. Dinesh wraps his arms around him, holding him tight. 

 

Dinesh softens quickly, cock slipping out of Gilfoyle’s stretched, used asshole. They don't move.

 

“You win,” Dinesh whispers into Gilfoyle’s hair. “But,” he adds, squeezing him tighter. “For what it's worth, I love you, too.” 

 

Gilfoyle laughs, sitting up and grinning down at Dinesh, smeared with Gilfoyle’s come and thoroughly fucked out.

  
“Yeah,” he says smugly. “Good.”


End file.
